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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526570">Outlaw Lullaby</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla'>VillaKulla</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnificent Seven (2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Train Robber AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:14:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The whistle screeched into the night,<br/>Its steam a whispering veil.<br/>And sparks lit up the tracks so bright,<br/>Along the humming rails.</p><p>Now pistol crack and rifle din,<br/>Send off their steel cry.<br/>And fleeing hoofbeats all join in,<br/>The Outlaw Lullaby.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I thought I'd written all I had to write about Goody and Billy as soft cowboy husbands. However, I'd always been tempted to write another 'rollicking western' fic for them, where they're just a little more prickly, a little more bloodthirsty, and a little more chaotic bastards than I normally write them. It's quarantine, baby, here's that fic.</p><p>This is ostensibly a train robber AU, however it could work as slightly warped canon or as a 'Goody and Billy take a gap year to rob trains' fic. No idea where it came from or where this is going, but thanks for coming along for the robbery!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The red-tailed hawk screeched high overhead.</p><p> </p><p>Hooves thundered against the desert floor, sending up clouds of sand and smoke. It had no effect on the riders. Each of the five wore a tight black bandana around their mouths, and black tinted spectacles to keep out the elements, whether gritty sand or burning sun. They rode hard, never breaking their V formation, racing across the desert like a group of snowbirds seeking the heat.</p><p> </p><p>After an hour’s riding they finally started to slow, each rider tightening their leather gloves on the reins, pulling the horses up gradually, still flanking the middle rider who held up his closed fist in the air. Had any of the posse been talking, they would have stopped.</p><p> </p><p>“We camp here,” the leader said, eyeing the horizon, sunglasses glinting against the rapidly sinking sun. The posse needed no further instruction, and hopped down obediently, setting up camp in an orderly manner, the two front riders rapidly shaking out bedrolls, the riders in the back breaking off to collect firewood.</p><p> </p><p>In no time they had dinner sizzling in a dutch oven and doled out onto tin plates. Their goods were fancy, the group well-funded. They ate in turns, two forking down their meals efficiently while two kept watch. The leader simply reclined against a gnarled tree trunk, occasionally consulting a pocketwatch, and glancing west like he was expecting something. His bandana hung limp around his neck revealing a thick dark handlebar mustache. The glasses perched atop his head show mean eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m turning in,” he eventually rasped to his followers. “Make sure you all get some rest. Tomorrow, if they turn up...shoot on sight.”</p><p> </p><p>The two still eating turned their gazes to him, swallowing the last bites of dinner before nodding. The two keeping watch on the rocks angled their bodies to listen, nodding as well. Their eyes were still fixed on the desert, the view slowly covered by night as though someone was unrolling a tarp across the desert floor.</p><p> </p><p>When dawn arrived it was to an already cleared out camp, embers still smoking in the dirt.</p><p> </p><p>The group was picking up the pace, making up for the night’s rest. They rode hard as the desert became high desert, became tree-studded hills. The trees thickened as they wound their way through a mountain path. Finally they reached a shallow bluff. At the bottom, rails glinting silver, were train tracks.</p><p> </p><p>“Descend,” the leader ordered, and the men leapt to the ground to lead their horses down the bluff, shale and sandstone sliding beneath the horses’ hooves.</p><p> </p><p>When they reached the bottom they didn’t mount their horses again but waited by the tracks. Each of the four followers chose a cardinal direction to watch, black sunglasses glittering against the morning light. The leader just eyed the rails which snaked off around a bend, chewing a plug of tobacco.</p><p> </p><p>Soon the pebbles on the tracks began to rattle, then jump. A whistle sounded once, twice, three times, louder each time. Then the rushing steam engine roared into view, chugging towards them. The horses, well-trained, didn’t flinch. </p><p> </p><p>A blue towel appeared out the window, flapping twice in signal. The train slowed, brakes squealing, carriages slowing to a crawl beside the posse until finally they were face-to-face with a nondescript red boxcar. </p><p> </p><p>The trains wheels chugged to a complete stop, the hiss of the steam whistle fading into the low mountains. Then the leader stepped forward, rapped five times in sequence on the door of the boxcar, and it slid open.</p><p> </p><p>“You McEnly?” he asked the leader.</p><p> </p><p>“It’d be a bit too late if I weren’t, wouldn’t it?” the leader drawled back, spitting a stream of tobacco to the side. When the man in the suit blanched, McEnly just smiled and stepped up into the boxcar. Two of his posse followed him, the other two kept watch in the open door.</p><p> </p><p>“Beginning to see why ya keep getting robbed,” McEnly said as he strode across the boxcar’s dusty floor. He stopped in front of a cast iron safe. “This it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Be a bit too late if it wasn’t,” the pinstriped man parroted drily. But his attempt at regaining control immediately faltered as McEnly turned his head slowly to him. The two men behind him exchanged a look, faces unreadable behind the dark glasses and bandanas.</p><p> </p><p>McEnly chuckled and the man in the suit cracked a hesitant smile. But no sooner had his pinstriped shoulders relaxed than McEnly slapped him hard with an open palm. The gesture was more to humiliate than harm.</p><p> </p><p>“You. Hired me. Remember that,” McEnly said, advancing on the man’s hunched form while he rubbed his reddened cheek in shock. “You hired <em> me </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes sir,” the man said, gasping for air.</p><p> </p><p>McEnly straightened up, tucking his pistol back into its holster. “Now open it.”</p><p> </p><p>The suited man fairly scuttled over to the safe, twirling the dial until the door clicked open. Piles of cash sat inside. McEnly snapped his fingers and his posse members walked forward to sweep it into two burlap bags. They made two more trips, distributing the money evenly into the group’s saddlebags. When all the money was packed up they stood at attention, flanking their leader.</p><p> </p><p>“Now if Rocks and Robicheaux should turn up wondering why you’re running light, you tell ‘em what you like,” McEnly said. “Ain’t my concern. My concern is getting your bank’s money up to Pueblo the back way so they can’t hit you for the third time in one month.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes sir,” the bank employee said shame-faced, eyeing the bulging saddlebags outside as though they were talismans of his own inadequacies.</p><p> </p><p>“See you in a week,” McEnly said, turning a spurred heel and marching out of the boxcar. One of his posse looked back at the banker. The dark glasses and cloth facial covering made it impossible to tell if it was in sympathy or scorn.</p><p> </p><p>When the group was saddled up the train  whistle blew, wheels grinding to life again, gears agonizingly slow at first as they propelled the train forward in uneven chunks until the motions seemed to click into place at once, and the train was pulling away smoothly, finally disappearing around the bend.</p><p> </p><p>In the silence that followed, the group awaited further instructions. The two who’d been keeping guard continued to track the treeline, more wary than ever, now that the targeted money was in their hands. The two who’d been in the boxcar simply watched McEnly.</p><p> </p><p>“Well boys, it’s a week’s ride to Pueblo and our pay,” said McEnly, pulling out his pocketwatch. “I reckon we can get this pile to Bayfield tonight if we don’t break. If that train does get robbed, Red River Bank won’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly he glanced back to his posse with a satisfied grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Rocks and Robicheaux sure won’t see that one coming, will they?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure won’t,” said one of the posse. Then quick as a flash his hand flew to his gun belt. And before the leader’s eyes could so much as widen, he shot him in the chest.</p><p> </p><p>Two of the posse gave shouts and reached for their own pistols. But before they could make it, the one between them drew his pistol almost lazily, and shot them each in the head.</p><p> </p><p>A flock of magpies flew up screeching from the nearest tree. The bodies below swayed where they sat on horseback. And one by one they began to drop to the ground, crumpled in a heap. </p><p> </p><p>The two still upright watched them for any further signs of movement. And when no twitches could be seen, they both reholstered their guns and removed the bandanas from their faces.</p><p> </p><p>“Well that was anticlimactic,” said Goodnight Robicheaux, nudging up the hat he wore to wipe at his brow.</p><p> </p><p>Billy Rocks gave no reply, instead taking off the dark glasses that had covered their eyes for the better part of two days, and examining them thoughtfully. </p><p> </p><p>“Don't you think? I mean we didn’t even get to enjoy the element of surprise,” Goodnight said, still complaining as he swung himself down from his horse. A slight man with a short sandy goatee, his only menacing features were the pale eyes that could go from amused to ice in the time it took to pull a trigger.</p><p> </p><p>Billy glanced over at him with a smile that was the opposite of reassuring. “I enjoyed it.” </p><p> </p><p>Goodnight wandered over to the leader and gave his boot an experimental kick.</p><p> </p><p>"Just wanted to savour the moment, that's all."</p><p> </p><p>“You can savour it when you’re dead,” Billy answered, dismounting as well.</p><p> </p><p>Billy was anything but unassuming. His shaggy black hair tumbled down as he removed his hat. His knives were packed carefully away for the sake of infiltration, but normally he wore them wreathed around his waist. The silver belt matched the silver that studded his ears. People usually stared when Billy passed, but tended to stop quickly when Billy stared back.</p><p> </p><p>The magpies had settled back down in a tall cedar on the other side of the train tracks. They watched the men’s progress towards the bulging saddlebags on the dead men’s horses, and watched them retrieve the sacks of money, stuffing them amongst their own belongings.</p><p> </p><p>“Want anything else?” Goodnight asked, nodding towards the dead bodies.</p><p> </p><p>Billy looked at him, then looked at the bodies. He went back to circle them thoughtfully.</p><p> </p><p>“He was okay,” Billy said of the dead man he stood over. “Those two were pricks.”</p><p> </p><p>Eulogy complete, Billy walked over to McEnly and reached down to yank the pocketwatch from the man’s vest.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty identifiable,” Goodnight commented, passing no other judgement. Billy just shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“Could be handy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you say,” Goodnight said. And together they dragged the three bodies to the side, camouflaging them in the bushes. Hardly a hiding spot that would pass even the most cursory inspection, but for a train whistling by at forty-five miles per hour, it would do the job.</p><p> </p><p>They remounted and picked their way over to the horses who had been waiting obediently all the while, indifferent to their former riders lying in the dust. Goodnight took the reins of the nearest two in one hand, and Billy did the same for the remaining horse.</p><p> </p><p>“Back to town?”</p><p> </p><p>“Back to town.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It was nearly midnight when they reached the edge of town. By unspoken agreement they avoided the main road, veering off with their pack of horses to a corral. A pot-bellied man leaned against a fence post as though waiting. He chewed a wheat stalk as he eyed their approach.</p><p> </p><p>“Ev,” Goodnight said in greeting, tossing him the reins of the horses he’d been leading.</p><p> </p><p>“Five nags,” Everett said. Billy handed him the reins of the horse he led.</p><p> </p><p>“Bring you back these two come morning,” Goodnight said, patting the neck of the horse he rode.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine team,” said Everett. “Didn’t I hear Wallace McEnly was just in town with a team of five nags? Chasing a couple of no-good bandits?”</p><p> </p><p>“Think I heard that too,” said Goodnight. “All the way from my own, cozy front porch.”</p><p> </p><p>Everett snorted but passed no further comment, just like Goodnight and Billy said nothing of the thin stack of bills he handed them, thinner than such animals should have fetched. Cost of a speedy unloading.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight and Billy rode slowly into town. Despite the late hour there were plenty of people out in the streets, calling to each other from their porches. Most of them gave Goodnight and Billy a wide berth. Even if the townsfolk didn’t know who exactly they were, or what they’d been involved in, Goodnight and Billy gave the impression that it would be prudent to stay out of it.</p><p> </p><p>The saloon’s bright lights acted as a beacon at the end of the road. It was the very hotel they’d stayed in two nights earlier, one floor above McEnly’s team. They’d slipped into the room below theirs after the hotel was quiet, quickly dispatching with the two men who’d been sleeping there, resting up for their day of tracking down a couple bandits by the name of Rocks and Robicheaux. There’d been no personal motive in the two Goodnight and Billy had killed first. Just whoever’s window happened to be right below their own.</p><p> </p><p>“Think I’ll keep this one,” Billy said of the horse he’d been commandeering.</p><p> </p><p>“Give Everett your grey?” Goodnight asked, surprised, dismounting as they’d just reached the stables.</p><p> </p><p>Billy shrugged. “Stands out.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy normally rode a dappled grey mare, fast and pretty. But as he’d said, it did tend to stand out in a crowd. Never mind the fact that he’d been riding her some two years now. Billy Rocks was not, as they say, a sentimental man. And Goodnight Robicheaux knew it.</p><p> </p><p>They tied up the brown horses next to their own in the hotel’s stable, certain they wouldn’t be recognized as the horses that had belonged to a posse staying here two days early. Five glossy brown horses attract attention. Two extra horses are just two extra horses. They carried the saddlebags through the downstairs saloon.</p><p> </p><p>“Much obliged for saving our rooms,” Goodnight said, passing the tall bartender a crumpled bill from his own saddlebags. “And we’ll be having that as well.”</p><p> </p><p>He leaned forward on his elbows, pointing at a bottle of bourbon on the middle shelf with a gleeful expression. It was three-quarters full. The bartender handed it to him, along with two glasses.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight thanked him and he and Billy trudged upstairs to deposit their saddlebags in their room. Rather than retire immediately, they walked down the hall to the hotel’s upper balcony. They weren’t the only ones with the idea. It was a hot summer night and there were plenty of people mingling in the streets, criss-crossing between the porches and bars that made up main street.</p><p> </p><p>The corner table was occupied by two burly gentlemen discussing politics. They glanced up when they noticed Goodnight and Billy looming. Whatever they saw in their faces had them quickly gathering up their drinks and shuffling to the empty table in the middle of the balcony.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight and Billy took a seat at the corner table, Billy’s back to the wall, Goodnight’s legs stretched under the table in satisfaction. The jaunty piano from the saloon downstairs sent a peal of notes up to them.</p><p> </p><p>“Well cheers and so on,” Goodnight said, extending his glass. Billy humoured him with a clink, and drank silently.</p><p> </p><p>They sat that way for a while, just drinking and listening to the conversation around them. The past two days had had them constantly on their guard, never letting their faces show to the posse they’d infiltrated, getting away with as few words as they could manage. The chance to unwind was welcome.</p><p> </p><p>“So how long do you give it before word hits Pueblo?” Goodnight asked eventually. Billy just shrugged and poured himself a second drink.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on, indulge me. I’ve barely spoken to anyone in two days,” Goodnight said. Billy glanced up at him, some amusement hitting his dark eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“And how’s that treating you?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Badly,” Goodnight said with a grin. “Come on, how long?”</p><p> </p><p>“Week at the outside,” Billy said. “They’ll wonder if it takes McEnly more than that to make the route. Even if another train passes the bodies, it’ll still take a few days for the news to go north.”</p><p> </p><p>“At which point we’ll already be well out of this region,” said Goodnight, satisfied, swallowing a mouthful of bourbon. He winced as an argument behind him had a man smacking his hand on the table. Goodnight craned his neck casually to see who it was. A pompous looking man jabbed a finger at his companion, who visibly shrank, trying not to let his papers get sloshed by the man’s beer.</p><p> </p><p>“Oaf,” Goodnight said mildly. Billy grunted in agreement. Goodnight looked over at him.</p><p> </p><p>“You really swapping out Marcy?” Goodnight asked. He didn’t know where that had come from. Marcy was Billy’s grey mare. </p><p> </p><p>Billy eyed him, not sure what to make of the rhetorical question.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight shrugged. He knew it was ridiculous to make any more of it, but he couldn’t explain why the thought had been curdling in his stomach like a cheap moonshine all the way from the stables.</p><p> </p><p> “Just wondering.” </p><p> </p><p>Billy raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight nearly squirmed. He felt caught out, though not entirely sure why. He was sure this conversation had already become much more awkward than he’d intended.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been riding her for two years.”</p><p> </p><p>“And she’s been standing out for two years,” Billy said with a trace of impatience.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight scoffed, gesturing to the silver in Billy’s ears, “And since when do you care about standing out?”</p><p> </p><p>Billy’s jaw went tight. And wordlessly he set down his glass of whiskey and lifted his hand to unscrew the silver hoop from his ear.</p><p> </p><p>“You - Billy,” Goodnight sighed in annoyance, rubbing a hand over his goatee. “That’s not what I -”</p><p> </p><p>Billy ignored him, continuing to work the silver out of his lobe.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you quit it?” Goodnight hissed. “I’m sorry, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Billy paused in his actions to give Goodnight a more knowing look than Goodnight cared for. And then there was a larger commotion from the man on the balcony.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a shit for brains, you know that?” The pompous man was loudly berating his companion, who appeared to be his employee. Goodnight and Billy’s hands crept to their gun belts before they were even conscious of it.</p><p> </p><p>“God himself couldn’t have given me a greater idiot for a secretary,” the man continued, his temper rising. Other patrons on the balcony were casting disapproving glances to where the commotion was coming from.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight couldn’t make out the man, but he could see his hand clenched around his beer. A forest of glasses stood on the tables between him and the offending party. Goodnight angled his pistol through the beer mugs just so.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you a moron? Or just plain stupid?” the man barked. And Goodnight squeezed his trigger and the bullet whistled over the tables, shattering the man’s beer mug. The patrons around them jumped, and the piano downstairs cut out abruptly. </p><p> </p><p>“What in the hell?” the man yelped, clutching his wet hand. He glanced around aghast to see who’d spoken. Goodnight helped him out by giving him a wave, pistol still smoking.</p><p> </p><p>“And your brain cavity wouldn’t make a drinkin’ cup for a canary,” Goodnight drawled.</p><p> </p><p>The man’s mouth fell open, gaze sliding to Billy in the corner. Billy had stood up at some point, and was now leaning casually against the hotel wall, hand on his hip.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re disturbing our drinks,” Goodnight replied. “Now if you’re through punishing the air with your commentary, I suggest you retire for the night, or my associate may choose to add his own feelings to the matter.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy cocked his gun, the sound perfectly audible across the silent balcony. He stood in shadow, waiting.</p><p> </p><p>The man took a moment to collect himself. Mouth snapping shut he coloured, but he got to his feet and slunk off, squeezing between the balcony’s tables, muttering to himself all the while. The private secretary didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation. But he gathered his things and followed his boss’s path, sending a somewhat bemused look Goodnight and Billy’s way. Gradually the hubbub built back up again, people turning to each other in conversation now the show was over, the piano below picking up a couple bars before where it had left off.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight and Billy’s eyes found each other, a brief moment of unspoken truce. Billy took his seat again. But to Goodnight’s surprise, he unlooped his earring from his lobe, and set it down on the table next to his glass, a shining silver ring. Seeing Goodnight open his mouth to object, Billy just shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“That one keeps getting caught," Billy admitted. "Keeping the others though.”</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight lifted his eyes from the earring on the table to the ones lining Billy’s ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t believe I’d recognize you without them,” Goodnight finally said. Billy gave him a suspicious look, and Goodnight gave him the most sheepish smile he had in his repertoire. Billy rolled his eyes but his lips may have had a slight curve to them as he lifted his drink to them. The pair drank in silence, as the street  gradually quieted down, and one by one, those drinking on the balcony around them started to trickle back into the hotel.</p><p> </p><p>“There was something though,” Goodnight said eventually. “In the boxcar, McEnly warned that fellow about Rocks and Robicheaux showing up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Those are our names.”</p><p> </p><p>“But,” Goodnight said, leaning forward, voice lowered, “how did he even know to call us that? Not bandits or train robbers...<em> Rocks and Robicheaux. </em>How the hell did he know we were the ones coming for it?”</p><p> </p><p>Billy’s gaze slid over to him, understanding dawning.</p><p> </p><p>“I missed that.”</p><p> </p><p>Something Billy rarely said. An olive branch of sorts...?</p><p> </p><p>“No one should have known it was us hitting that route,” Goodnight said, voice serious. “No one except…”</p><p> </p><p>Billy leaned back, eyes gone dark. One gloved finger scratched his glass, only outward show of restlessness. Goodnight waited.</p><p> </p><p>“Guess we’re going south?” Billy finally asked, voice flinty and alert.</p><p> </p><p>“South.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy nodded in approval and drained his bourbon. He looked into the empty glass as though searching for something, then looked up and locked eyes with Goodnight. His mouth quirked and he got to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Turning in,” he said, reaching for his hat.</p><p> </p><p>“Be right behind you,” Goodnight responded. He didn’t look back as Billy brushed by him and pushed open the balcony’s glass doors, his jangling steps fading down the hall. Goodnight stared at the empty space across from him. Billy had left his earring on the table, silver shining dully in the moonlight. Goodnight pretended not to see it while he poured off the last of the bourbon into his glass, determined to get out more of the liquor than the brief trickle the bottle was offering him.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight finished his drink, trying to make it last while he watched the mostly empty street below. Once he finished he stood up, chair scraping. And before he could second-guess himself, Goodnight palmed the earring off the table, tucked it into his breast pocket, and returned inside.</p><p> </p><p>Billy was already in his own bed when Goodnight entered the room. Goodnight doubted Billy was fully asleep yet. But he had one arm slung over the thin pillow, face tucked into his elbow, breathing starting to slow.</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight undressed quickly. He slid into the other bed, allowing himself one look at Billy whose messy hair fell into his face, remaining silver glinting in the shell of his ear. The oil lamp between them cast a gold streak down Billy’s skin, visible where the sheet had slipped. Goodnight could bring to mind exactly how warm it had felt that first time, and the handful of times since. Only when he really wanted to torture himself, though.</p><p> </p><p>Billy shifted and his eyes opened a crack, catching Goodnight’s in their dark gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“Night,” he said, the word bleary but clear. </p><p> </p><p>Goodnight reached out and turned down the wick of the lamp, enveloping them in darkness. He rolled over to face the wall, like he could burn a hole through it with his eyes if he tried.</p><p> </p><p>“Night.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Osgood Jakes was an unremarkable looking man. His only noticeable feature was a pair of wire spectacles perched atop a somewhat spud-like nose. Short and slightly balding, he slipped through most crowds without attracting a second glance. This suited him very well. However when the need arose, something in his murky blue eyes and quiet voice could make larger and more imposing men question themselves. This also suited him very well. </p><p> </p><p>He worked in the back of one of the many offices of the Central Pacific Railway. A nearly-forgotten outpost of the company, it was nestled in one of the topmost corners of New Mexico, barely clinging to where the real business in Colorado took place, but just close enough to be occasionally useful.</p><p> </p><p>The office employed five women in secretarial positions, which sounded impressive until you realized that the larger offices up north employed triple that number. When the main office was built it was in anticipation of a bustling, thriving business in which many employees could maneuver amidst a constant circulation of documents and order forms. But when it became apparent that fewer companies would need their goods shipped south than through the mountains up north, the office’s business dwindled to a steady but rather sluggish trickle, rather than the roaring flood the railway had first anticipated. The secretaries had opted to bring their desks closer together in the centre of the room for the semblance of community, but it gave the office a cavernous effect. Except for when the shipping season would pick up, there was very little company work to do.</p><p> </p><p>That was fine by the women. It wasn’t what they were paid for anyway. They knew their real jobs.</p><p> </p><p>Which was why none of them so much as batted an eyelid when one morning the door to the office banged open and two men with pistols rushed in.</p><p> </p><p>Osgood Jakes heard the commotion from inside his own office, and put down his quill with some measure of irritation. He folded his arms across his stomach, leaned back, and waited.</p><p> </p><p>When his own door burst open, he was only somewhat surprised to see who was making all the fuss.</p><p> </p><p>“Mister Rocks, Mister Robicheaux,” he said, unruffled as the former unsheathed a knife from the preposterous belt he wore. Robicheaux stepped up to the desk with the air of a man about to do the talking, which was what he always did. Osgood cut him off at the chase.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, gentlemen? Are you here to bring me my cut?”</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux actually barked out a laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, but probably not the one you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“The one I - oh yes, that’s very clever,” Osgood said, as he felt Rock’s knife press against his neck. Before anyone could say anything else, one of the secretaries burst in. She stopped when she saw the situation.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re fine, Miss Hamer, thank you,” Osgood said, as though she had offered them all coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“You and I have different definitions of fine, Mister Jakes,” she said. Rocks had moved around the desk and was leaning over Osgood’s chair, knife circling his knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Before you go, Miss Hamer, kindly distribute these files to the ladies, please. The instructions are inside. Excuse me, gentlemen, business, you understand.”</p><p> </p><p>He reached into his desk and handed her a thick manila envelope. Miss Hamer came into the office to take it, doing a good impression of a woman who couldn’t see the men with guns in her boss’s office.</p><p> </p><p>“The door, please.”</p><p> </p><p> When the door clicked shut again, Osgood turned his attention back to the two men. </p><p> </p><p>“Now suppose you tell me what this is about?” Osgood suggested.</p><p> </p><p>“What this is about,” Robicheaux said, striding up to the desk, tailored coat billowing behind him, “is you selling us out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yes,” Osgood said nodding, removing his spectacles to clean. “Well in my defense, I didn’t expect you to live long enough to find out about that.”</p><p> </p><p>He put his glasses back on and looked Robicheaux in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose you think that makes it better?” Robicheaux asked, impatience building. </p><p> </p><p>“As a matter of fact, I do,” Osgood said, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux actually looked at a loss, mouth opening in offense at Osgood’s cavalier disposition towards their own mortality.</p><p> </p><p>“Well! How do you like that, Billy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not much,” came his partner’s response, uncomfortably close to Osgood’s ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Gentlemen,” Osgood said, leaning forward, if only to get further away from Rocks, who, between the two men, had always seemed like the real threat between the two, “I’m sure you understand, there was nothing personal in my motives.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing per - you sold us out to McEnly! Told him we’d be robbing that train,” - Robicheaux gestured between Rocks and himself with his gun -  “and to clear out the money beforehand, and kill us if we still tried!”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” Osgood said. “And disappointing of him to fail.” </p><p> </p><p>Seeing Robicheaux’s face begin to turn red, Osgood spread his hands. “Again, nothing personal. I only mean I felt certain that with five of them, they’d have been able to manage you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well fortunately for us, we heard they were in town,” Goodnight said, dripping sarcasm. “Thought we should shake it up a bit.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see. And how did you get the drop on McEnly’s team?”</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux looked at Rocks and then back at Osgood as though he’d gotten permission. “If you can’t beat em, join em, that’s what I always say.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Osgood said, actually amused. “That’s not bad actually. And how is McEnly?”</p><p> </p><p>He felt Rocks shift behind him, and then a gloved hand reached past his ear to drop a heavy pocketwatch on the desk. <em> W.M </em>was engraved on the cover.</p><p> </p><p>“Well that settles that,” Osgood said, and leaned back with a sigh. “Look, gentlemen, the thing is, something had to give. Hitting that train route three times in a month was just downright greedy, and I take some responsibility for that. But be that as it may, one more and the folks up north would have gotten suspicious. Who knows all the schedules? Me. Who knows which trains are carrying money? Me. And whose line hadn’t been hit yet?”</p><p> </p><p>He left the last ‘me’ unsaid, looking at Robicheaux like a schoolteacher waiting for his lesson to sink in before continuing.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve both done excellent work, truly, and it’s profited us all. But it just wasn’t sustainable anymore. And for that reason I felt our partnership had to come to an end.”</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux scoffed and removed his pistol. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll say.”</p><p> </p><p>“That being said, I do have one more proposition if you’re interested,” Osgood said in a raised voice, hoping to cut through their current train of thought. </p><p> </p><p>“Or we just kill you,” said Robicheaux, unswayed.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’ll want to hear this first. The Sunrise Flyer will be - I’m sorry, do you mind?” he asked Rocks, as he tried to get up without getting his neck nicked, or worse. Rocks stepped back, gesturing sardonically, lifting an eyebrow at Robicheaux. Osgood made his way to the cabinet in the corner. He unearthed a map and brought it back to the desk, unrolling it until the edges of the parchment drooped over the sides of the desk..</p><p> </p><p>“The Sunrise Flyer will be  making its way north a week from now. It’s the usual commercial route, with one small difference. It will be making a special stop in Tierra Ancha to pick up a shipment that is continuing on northward. That shipment is a startup investment for a new bank being built in Grand Junction. One hundred thousand dollars, all cash. You’d have a week to get it done.”</p><p> </p><p>He leaned back in his chair, lifted his eyebrows and waited. Robicheaux paused as though pretending to consider it, and then shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Or we just kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>Osgood shrugged. “Your choice of course. But I wouldn’t advise it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well of course you wouldn’t. Billy?”</p><p> </p><p>Osgood waited, Robicheaux’s eyes boring into his. When Rocks didn’t answer, Robicheaux’s brow furrowed. “Billy?” he asked again.</p><p> </p><p>Footsteps behind him, the jangling of spurs, and then Rocks was in front of him, knife held loosely at his hip. Clad in a riding suit as black as his hair, the silver studding his ears stood out, flashing as sharp and suspiciously as his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asked in a low voice.</p><p> </p><p>Osgood knew not to draw it out. If Rocks already smelled a rat, better to not leave it stinking up the barn too long.</p><p> </p><p>“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to get these made, but under the circumstances, I’m glad I did…”</p><p> </p><p>He reached into his top right-hand drawer, Robicheaux cocking his pistol in warning. Osgood just drew out a poster.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’ll find the likeness isn’t bad.”</p><p> </p><p>On the poster was a composite of each of their faces, basic yet recognizable, their names underneath. Most alarming were the words stamped at the top in larger print, reading: WANTED - DEAD OR ALIVE.</p><p> </p><p>Osgood let his eyes flick up from the posters to take in the men’s reactions. Robicheaux looked like a maiden aunt who’d overheard scandalous news at a picnic. And Rocks looked genuinely alarmed. It was the first time Osgood had ever seen him show anything beyond composure or boredom.</p><p> </p><p>“Who else has these?” Rocks finally asked. Osgood felt gratified that he had asked the most pertinent question right off the bat.</p><p> </p><p>“Not the law, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Osgood said. “But each of my secretaries now has a copy, thanks to Miss Hamer’s timely entry. They also have instructions to distribute them to the authorities in a week’s time, if you don’t complete this next job for me.”</p><p> </p><p>He waited for it to sink in. Rocks and Robicheaux looked at each other as though having a conversation silent to everyone but themselves. They did that a lot, Osgood had noticed.</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux turned back to him, face changed in some small way, any and all affability drained. His fancy suit might have made him look like a man about town, but the look in his eyes put him firmly on the outskirts of any social code.</p><p> </p><p>“What makes you think we won’t kill everyone out there too?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have no doubt you could,” Osgood said, and he didn’t. “But a massacre hardly seems your style. Also each of the ladies outside is armed and waiting, and they’re not bad shots. Not quite at your level Mr. Robicheaux, but good enough to get the job done at these quarters.”</p><p> </p><p>Rocks glanced towards the closed door. Osgood knew he was doing a mental headcount of all the secretaries they’d passed coming in, and weighing the odds. Robicheaux glanced up at the room's only window, a high rectangle in the uppermost corner.</p><p> </p><p>“You could always bide your time until tonight and kill them each in their homes one by one, and try to find where they’d each hide the posters” Osgood thought out loud, helping them through their various options, “but that would be time consuming, which is not in your best interests under the circumstances.” </p><p> </p><p>He pushed the pocketwatch back towards Rocks.</p><p> </p><p>“The clock, as they say, is ticking, gentlemen.”</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux looked almost apoplectic with indignation, but Rocks just looked thoughtful.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s like this,” Osgood said, giving them the lowdown, “If you refuse right now and kill me, you’re dead men. And if you do it and fail, or do it and vanish into the night...or basically don’t come back here in a week with my cut, those posters get distributed and you’re as <em> good </em>as dead men.”</p><p> </p><p>He tugged his vest into place, smiled in a friendly manner, and let them think it over. They seemed to have forgotten him as they turned towards each other, faces unreadable to Osgood but clearly meaning something to each other.</p><p> </p><p>Rocks broke first, reaching out to take the pocketwatch from Osgood, a note of wry respect in his eyes. Robicheaux paced about the room in irritation, pistol forgotten by his side.</p><p> </p><p>“Why in the hell do you have those posters anyways if you were so sure McEnly would have killed us by now?” he demanded.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, a little insurance policy never hurt anyone,” Osgood said handing the wanted poster to Robicheaux who was eyeing it like a dead possum. Osgood gestured with it again.</p><p> </p><p>“Keep it. I have plenty.”</p><p> </p><p>Robicheaux took it between two fingers with a scathing look at Osgood.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a real sonofabitch, you know that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“So I’ve been told,” Osgood said as he rolled up the maps and added some more files to the stack. “And you’ll be wanting these as well.”</p><p> </p><p>He pressed them all towards Robicheaux who fumbled with his arms full, trying to catch the slipping papers. Rocks slipped the timepiece back into his pocket, never taking his eyes off Osgood. When Robicheaux had collected himself as well as the files, they finally turned to go. But before they could get to the door, Osgood called after them.</p><p> </p><p>“One more thing, gentleman.”</p><p> </p><p>They turned back with twin skeptical expressions. Osgood just raised an eyebrow and held out his hand expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>“My cut.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>***</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>“Can you believe the nerve?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean the sheer...the sheer…”</p><p> </p><p>Billy waited while Goodnight sorted it out.</p><p> </p><p>“The sheer <em> cheek</em>!” Goodnight burst out as they made their way down the hot street. Their exit from the office had been an exercise in humility, the secretaries’ hands each resting on pistols they’d unearthed from their desks, their eyes boring holes in the back of their heads. Better than a bullet anyhow. Billy and Goodnight tried to leave the office with as much dignity as they could muster. But once they’d stepped off the office’s porch, Goodnight had all but boiled over.</p><p> </p><p>“Just imagine! Not only do you sell someone out, but then you expect them to just nod along like they agree with you, and then make them agree to, I’m sorry, <em> blackmail </em> them to do you a favour? I tell you, if I ever get as supercilious as that, just shoot me in the head, really. No, you’d be doing <em> me </em> a favour.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy steered him into the town bar, where just a single look at the bartender was enough to have him draw two mugs of ale. Billy cast a look around the plain setup inside. Mostly empty, so a chance of being overheard, but better than letting Goodnight run his mouth all the way down the street.  </p><p> </p><p>The bartender set down their beers on the table and retreated. Goodnight huffed and crossed his arms by way of thank you. When Billy looked up at him he had to suppress a smile. The man was scowling deep enough to find a gold seam.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Billy said, taking his first sip, afternoon sun streaming through the dirty window onto their table. </p><p> </p><p>“He double-crossed us!”</p><p> </p><p>“How is that a surprise?”</p><p> </p><p>Goodnight had never been what Billy would call a naive man, but he did tend to have a wide-eyed assumption that everyone around him was operating in good faith. Or at the very least, in the same bad faith as himself.</p><p> </p><p>However, he did seem to have a sixth sense about some things, whether he knew it or not. He’d already been suggesting they try something new for their latest robbery, even before they’d heard McEnly’s gang was in town. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, it’ll be fun!” he’d said to Billy, as though he were suggesting they spend a night undercover for a lark. Maybe that had been his intention, but hell if it wasn’t the reason they were still alive right now.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a snake,” Billy added for good measure. “And he’s always been one.”</p><p> </p><p>“But those <em> posters </em>!” Goodnight hissed, narrowly avoiding his drink as he jabbed at Billy’s breast pocket where the wanted posters were folded. “Threatening us with bounties...and they’re not even good pictures!”</p><p> </p><p>“Not so fun being on the other side of them, is it?” Billy asked pointedly.</p><p> </p><p>That seemed to stop Goodnight in his tirade as he looked at Billy. And the fight seemed to leach from him as he slumped back and finally picked up his beer mug. Before he drank he paused and laughed, shaking his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Too bad we burned yours. I considered it one of my prized possessions, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Billy said. It had been a while since he’d seen his face on one of those, but that didn’t make it less of a shock. No one had ever bothered to come after him except for the man sitting across from him now. And it hadn’t taken long for him to be swayed to the other side of the law. That had been five years ago with no other pursuers, and Billy just suspected he was in the clear. Served him right for getting soft.</p><p> </p><p>Well now Billy and Goodnight were both in hot water, and that temperature would be cranked up to boiling if they didn’t complete this last job.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t believe you’re not more offended,” Goodnight said, picking at a splinter on the table. “Thought you’d have cut his throat for sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s convincing,” Billy said. And just for good measure he added: “Even more than you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I take extreme offense to that!”</p><p> </p><p>“All yours.”</p><p> </p><p>The bartender came by to pick up their empty ale mugs, setting down two new foamy ones. It seemed to pick up Goodnight’s mood temporarily as he spun the handle towards himself.</p><p> </p><p>“He seemed so...well not square, but square about his crookedness at least,” Goodnight said, still trying to rationalise their having been one-upped. When Billy didn’t reply, Goodnight narrowed his eyes at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously, why aren’t you more angry?”</p><p> </p><p>Billy couldn’t really explain it. Maybe part of him was annoyed, maybe part of him had a grudging soft spot for scrappy smart guys who could talk their way out of anything, but also because...</p><p> </p><p>“Everyone turns on you sooner or later,” Billy said. </p><p> </p><p>When Goodnight frowned, Billy just shrugged. “It’s reassuring.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy had learned from a young age that a smile was a con, and when someone looked you in the eye it was to distract you from the knife approaching your back. Billy took some comfort in it, because the alternative was feeling hurt. And feeling hurt led to getting hurt. Best to assume the worst in people. That way when they turned on you, it wouldn’t feel disappointing so much as predictable.</p><p> </p><p>Although...Goodnight was still here. Still working with Billy, still having his back. Against all odds he had proven himself to be a constant. Sometimes scattered, often irritating, but always loyal. For whatever reason, Goodnight was still here. </p><p> </p><p>Hell. Even their falling into bed together those few times hadn’t been so much of a surprise as the fact that they hadn’t parted ways afterward.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a couple years ago now, and not without any buildup. A few too many looks that had lingered. A handful of borderline-provocative comments, thrown out as though testing the waters. All of it perfectly deniable but simmering under the surface. Until one night in their shared room, night falling around them, it had boiled over, Billy yanking Goodnight towards him mid-argument, Goodnight falling into his arms with no hesitation, hands in his hair, the two kissing as though they were still trying to prove a point. Neither had needed any extra encouragement to fumble off their clothes, Billy shoving Goodnight down onto his bed, and sliding over top. The rest of the night had been intense, unrestrained, and thrilling. Both seemed to have a lot they’d been wanting to do to the other, and they’d wasted no time in seeing to it.</p><p> </p><p>It had been fairly blindsiding, but at the same time...pretty spectacular. Seemed a waste not to revisit it. So after a week of not bringing it up and being oddly polite around each other, one night they closed the door to their room with a decisive click and tried again.</p><p> </p><p>That time...thinking about it always made Billy’s stomach clench. Not because it had been bad, but because of the unexpected intimacy it had unearthed. Rather than the uninhibited fervor of their last sexual encounter, this one had revealed a surprising tenderness between them that both had felt painfully ill-equipped to deal with. A hand clenched in hair would smooth into a caress seemingly of its own accord, and then back to pulling as if appalled by its mutiny. Bruising bites melted into the soft press of lips, and then hurriedly back to teeth again. Kisses were eager when they came, but abandoned too soon. Neither had seemed able to get a handle on what they were after. It was like they wanted to get closer but keep each other at arm’s length at the same time. It had been no less intense than the first time, but much more unsettling.</p><p> </p><p>They tried once more a few days later, getting colossally drunk beforehand as though it might minimize the awkwardness. Rather, it had done the reverse. The results of that experiment had felt uncoordinated, frustrating, embarrassing, and unsatisfying overall. By mutual unspoken agreement the whole two weeks were written off as an aberration in an otherwise agreeable partnership. And gradually, even if neither had forgotten about, it became easier to <em> pretend </em>they’d forgotten about it. And so the world kept right on turning.</p><p> </p><p>They’d never spoken about it, so Billy had no idea if it was something Goodnight ever thought about anymore. Billy still did from time to time. It didn’t really change anything. They’d had sex and then they hadn’t. Hardly any reason to cause a fuss. Billy had had the occasional partner in the years since, and he suspected Goodnight had as well. Although he couldn’t be sure, since they never talked about that either. Just behaved in a somewhat aloof, strained manner if one got back to their room suspiciously late in a new town, not fully relaxing until they were back out on the road, just them again.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Billy was curious about rekindling it. Maybe it was when they caught each other’s eyes, the few times they let their defenses down. Or the way Goodnight could sometimes startle him into an unguarded laugh, leaving a pleased feeling in his stomach that lingered. Or maybe after a near miss, Billy’s pulse still pounding through him, Goodnight’s breathing heavy, it would have been easy to chalk it up to nerves.  Billy couldn’t say he hadn’t felt other opportunities to revisit that dynamic with Goody. But he couldn’t bring himself to act on it. Against all odds Goodnight had become a friend of sorts, and the only worthwhile one Billy had.</p><p> </p><p>It was probably for the best. Anything more had the potential to get messy. And even if some part of Billy still expected Goody to take off eventually, Billy didn’t feel the need to hasten it for the sake of his own curiosity and fleeting satisfaction. And if that made him somewhat testy to be with sometimes, well, self-preservation was a powerful instinct.</p><p> </p><p>“Well. Forgive me if I don’t share your black-tinted view of humanity,” Goodnight said, raising his glass towards Billy in salute.</p><p> </p><p>“What about you?” Billy shot back, somewhat offended, and reminding himself that no, Goody couldn’t actually read his thoughts. He took a hasty gulp of beer to distract from where his mind had been wandering.</p><p> </p><p>Rather than rise to the bait Goodnight just put his chin in his hand, one finger scratching at his beard. “More like murky grey.”</p><p> </p><p>Billy stared at him. And then his lip tugged up. “Oh really?”</p><p> </p><p>“A sort of muddy ditchwater brown,” Goodnight said, warming to his theme.</p><p> </p><p>“Before or after you pass out drunk in it, face down?”</p><p> </p><p>“That was <em> once </em>,” Goodnight said. “And I don’t remember you helping much either.”</p><p> </p><p>“I turned you over,” Billy protested, biting his lip to keep from grinning.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>So </em> big of you,” Goodnight said, but his eyes were twinkling. </p><p> </p><p>No, Billy wasn’t willing to accelerate anything that would push Goodnight away, and his irritating yet charming ability to slip past Billy’s defenses where few else could. This was enough. It had to be.</p><p> </p><p>Billy cleared his throat. “We should probably start planning. For Tierra Ancha.” His tongue tripped over the name, making him feel all the more suddenly self-conscious.</p><p> </p><p>“You can finish your beer, can’t you?” Goodnight objected good-naturedly, seeming to want to keep their sparring going. But Billy just reached for his beer and drained it in ten seconds, setting it back onto the table with a thunk.</p><p> </p><p>“Finished,” he said, getting to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>The light in Goodnight’s eyes dimmed somewhat. But he nodded and reached for his hat, cursing as he dropped one of the files that Osgood had pressed upon him. Billy left a coin on the table and they headed towards the swinging door. Billy let Goodnight go ahead of him, and stopped by the door to let his breath out.</p><p> </p><p>Billy spun one of the hoops in his ear, wondering why he felt the need to collect himself at all, and then noticed the bartender watching him like he was wondering the same thing.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you looking at?” Billy asked, lifting his chin.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” came Goodnight’s voice from outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.” </p><p> </p><p>Billy dropped his gloved fingers from his ear and pushed the door open, joining Goodnight back out in the hot sun, following just a few steps behind.</p><p><br/>
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